


Heirlooms

by Livelovelupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livelovelupin/pseuds/Livelovelupin
Summary: ((tw death, mentions of past abuse.))"It’s tarnished, the ring, as if it hadn’t been cleaned in a while, and it has his mother’s initials engraved on the inside; W.I.B. Walburga Irma Black. His mother.Truthfully, Walburga Black hasn’t crossed Sirius’ mind in a while..."
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Heirlooms

**tw death, mentions of past abuse.**

…

Sirius still doesn’t quite understand. 

He thought it was a joke that he didn’t get the punchline to, at first. Now, after inspecting the ring in his hand for a little while, he’s thinking there maybe isn’t a punchline at all. It isn’t like Regulus to be this cruel, anyway (not that Sirius knows Regulus all that well, at all, not anymore, but sending their dead mother’s wedding ring tied to his owl’s leg as a joke is a Very-Not-Regulus-Like thing to do.)

But if it isn’t a joke, then why? What use does Sirius have for it? His mother’s funeral had apparently been a quiet affair, or so Sirius had heard, and it happened a week ago and Sirius spent that time feeling all sorts of conflicting, contradictory emotions that he hasn’t dealt with yet, not really, and now he has her wedding ring. 

Sirius realizes, as he’s turning it around in his hand, that he’s never really seen it before, not in this light. It is gold, with small, crystal clear diamonds surrounding a black gemstone in the middle. It is objectively pretty, subjectively not so, and Sirius doesn’t quite understand. It’s tarnished, the ring, as if it hadn’t been cleaned in a while, and it has his mother’s initials engraved on the inside; _W.I.B._ Walburga Irma Black. His mother. 

Truthfully, Walburga Black hasn’t crossed Sirius’ mind in a while (a seven-year, not-since-he-has-been-disowned while). None of Sirius’ family members have (with one, vast, Leo-shaped exception). He doesn’t know how to feel, exactly. 

Remus tells him that’s okay, and that he owes it to no one to make up his mind or figure out how to feel, yet (if ever). 

He looks at the ring and he remembers when it caused the scar at the edge of his mouth, how it dug into his palm whenever he had embarrassed his mother. He _hates_ it. 

He can sell it, out of spite. Give it to the first person who’d show interest, preferably someone his mother would have hated, despised. 

Maybe he should _keep_ it out of spite, get it cleaned and polished and completely change the things it is associated with in his mind; make it happy and shiny and bright, as opposed to dark and gloomy and inspiring _what an absolute bitch!_ thoughts.

He thinks he can do that, and he’s done it before, rewired his brain and changed certain parallels, with words like _pride_ and _family_ and actual, physical objects like pianos. 

The ring isn’t as extravagant as one might expect for a member of _the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_ , not that Sirius doesn’t know. His mother is -was- a practical person. Very pragmatic. Everything she did, she did for a reason; _everything._ She got married because that’s what you do, Sirius presumes. She had heirs, made alliances, kept up appearances, and ate dinner because she needed to, never had dessert because what practical reason would you eat something sweet for? Sirius never really saw his mother as an actual person, not really. And he now realizes he could tell a lot about a lot by the way dinner was served back home alone. 

Sirius thinks about how _sad_ that must be; that kind of existence. Absolutely miserable. And he thinks about how easily that could have been how he lived, and how he thought, and how he ate dinner, had it not been for James. Lily. Remus.

The ring is, ultimately, an object. It amounts to nothing. Or, more specifically, it amounts to whatever Sirius wants it to amount to. And Sirius wants it to amount to nothing. 

He thinks about words he could use to describe the ring (and what it stands for, what Sirius wants it to stand for) and he comes up with nothing. He thinks that Remus would probably describe it as ‘unassuming’, if only to see Sirius smile. And Sirius would.

(Because, like objects, words amount only to what people want them to amount to. 

Sirius remembers this so well, like so many other memories from Hogwarts, for no specific reason. He remembers how Remus and he had just become public, _just,_ and how it felt like the entire world belonged to no one but Sirius. He remembers that he was daydreaming, and then he wasn’t, because someone had tapped on his shoulder and asked, “Why are you with someone as _unassuming_ as Lupin?”

They said it as if it was a bad word; unassuming in a way that suggested ‘mild’, in a way that suggested ‘dull’. In a passive-aggressive way that irked Sirius. And it startled Sirius then (it still startles him, now), how anyone would use the word ‘dull’ to describe Remus Lupin. Which, if anything, made him think about how lucky he was for knowing knowing knowing Remus, cracks-in-the-wall, buttons-missing-in-the-brain, lycanthropy-on-the-side, and anything-but-fucking-unassuming Remus. Everything everything everything Remus. 

Later, when he was in detention for punching the boy (and when Remus was sneaking into detention to ask Sirius why exactly he punched him), Sirius would think that everything would be okay.)

And maybe everything is going to be okay, still. It already is. Sirius needs to appreciate that, more; how kind life has been to him ever since he was disowned, how he was always waiting for the carpet to get pulled from under his feet, waiting for the cruel punchline, and neither ever came. He is sitting on his and Remus’ bed, in his and Remus’ home, waiting for Remus to come back from the grocery store with Harry’s favorite chocolate wafers because the Potters were coming tomorrow, like they did every Friday, and he’s maybe learning how to trust life, again. Learning to believe that the rug won’t be pulled from under him because he deserves happiness and good things, and he shouldn’t feel guilty for getting them. Just thankful. And he is. 

Sirius puts the ring in a box, then puts that box at the very back of his and Remus’ wardrobe. He’s going to keep it. Maybe give it to his daughter. He hasn’t talked children with Remus, yet, and he decides to talk children today. Maybe even propose by the end of the week, because why hasn’t he proposed, yet? Remus and he were already married, anyway, in all the ways that mattered. Sirius still wants to do it properly, though. 

He exits his wardrobe and notices that Regulus’ owl is still there. He quickly writes a note to Regulus, thinking about miserable existences and sad ones, thinking how much he doesn’t want that for Regulus, at all. He writes that he wants to meet up somewhere. To break Regulus’ nose; to invite him over; to get to know him, again. 

As he watched the owl fly away, Sirius hears Remus open their front door, finally back. Sirius closes the window, maybe understanding why Regulus sent the ring, maybe misunderstanding why. It doesn’t matter, Sirius decides. He made a lot of decisions today, looking at a stupid (not) ring. Maybe that ring won’t amount to nothing, after all. 


End file.
